Molten Lava
by JensenAckles13
Summary: It was nothing like Tony expected it to be. Nothing. He'd expected gnashing teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. He didn't expect this. And somehow, it was just as sweet.


It was nothing like Tony expected it to be. _Nothing_. He'd expected gnashing teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. He didn't expect _this_.  
And somehow, it was just as sweet.

Loki appeared in his lab, looking every bit as weary and worn as Tony felt. There were no theatrics, no clouds of green smoke or shrouds of black feathers.  
It was simple; he was not there and then he was.  
Tony had been working on upgrading the Mark VII. During a rather wild fight with Amora that lasted _three days_, none of which Loki had been present, Tony had been taken out of the skies and thrown haphazardly- and painfully- into the concrete below. The wave of pure energy that followed took out everything- weapons, comm.'s….all of it. If he could simply create something that would counter magic…..

"Reindeer Games?" Tony swiveled in his chair to fully face the god, a frown dipping his brow. "What's wrong?"

"I am simply tired, Anthony," Loki replied, swiping a hand across his face. His eyes were dull and glazed with exhaustion. Tony's frown deepened, but he quickly stood, striding over to the god.

"Then let's get you into a nice warm bed-"

He froze, cutting off mid sentence.

Loki had moved forward, shoulders slumped, head coming to rest on Tony's shoulder.  
Tony could feel the god's cool breath against his exposed neck, and he shivered. If Loki was being this adamant, he was in some serious need of rest. The god wasn't a touchy person, and this was simply un-Loki-like in a wonderful way, not that Tony would ever admit that last part.

"Let's get you into bed, eh?" Tony asked after a beat of silence. Loki nodded against his shoulder before straightening, long hair falling in front of his face. Tony's fingers itched to brush it back behind his ear. When it didn't seem like Loki would be teleporting,- or moving, for that matter- Tony took Loki's hand in his own, putting his other hand at the small of the god's back, guiding him to the elevator. They rode in comfortable silence.  
Tony took the god to his own room- before, Loki would've insisted on being taken to his room, which he'd decked out with emerald green and leather-bound books- and coaxed him out of his armor, which, admittedly, took much longer than it should have (_there were so many damn buckles_), and was able to get him to lay down, under the silk blankets, with a pillow fluffed beneath his head.

"Do you need anything?" he asked the already half-asleep god.

"Nnn."

Tony wasn't planning on dignifying that with a response. He turned, starting to walk out, but cool fingers encircling his wrist stopped him in his tracks.

"You didn't let me finish," Loki said, somewhat accusingly.

"I figured 'Nnn' meant 'no'," Tony responded, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean, it was close enough. I just figured you didn't have the energy to get the second letter out."  
Loki let out a breath of a laugh, his fingers tightening a bit when Tony tried to free his arm.

"I want you to stay." That was the only warning he got before Loki tugged, and Tony was falling next to the god. In fact, it wasn't much of a warning at all. Tony was still absolutely shell-shocked.  
On the Brightside, Loki was ridiculously gorgeous, and Tony had had the biggest seven-year-old crush on Loki since the god had thrown him out the window. Strange, yeah, but then, no one had ever told Tony he was completely normal. That crush- god, he needed to find a better word- only grew when Loki decided he would become a good guy. With a lot of words from the mortal and immortal silver-tongue, a few idly placed threats, and the Avengers had grudgingly agreed to let Loki stay.  
So instead of panicking, he kicked off his shoes, crawled under the heavenly soft blankets with Loki, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Loki leaned into him, the god's head coming to rest on Tony's chest, one long finger coming up to trace the outer edge of the arc reactor through Tony's shirt.

"Jarvis, lights," Tony called out softly. A moment later, the room fell dark and instead they were bathed in a mirage of reds, pinks and oranges. Tony let his eyes slide to the window, to the setting sun, before moving them back to Loki. Tony carded his fingers through those soft, dark locks, unable to fight off the urge any longer. The god nuzzled his face into Tony's neck, fingers still lazily tracing the reactor.  
Before he could have second thoughts, Tony caught those fingers in his own, bringing the god's hand up to his own cheek. Loki's fingers curled softly to cup his jaw and cheek, never moving from his spot at Tony's side. Tony turned into the god's hand, pressing a kiss to Loki's palm.  
Loki took a sharp intake of breath, and Tony feared he'd just royally fucked up and was about to backtrack, until the god pressed himself closer into Tony's side, one arm coming to wrap around Tony's waist, the other staying where it was against his lips.  
Loki shifted, so subtle Tony almost missed it. He would have, had he not been watching the god so closely to begin with. Loki pressed a kiss to the center of the arc reactor, gentle and careful. Tony felt his heart stutter in his chest; no one had done that. No one had _tried _to do that. No one had, aside from ignoring its presence, given full attention to the thing that kept him alive. No one had treated it as anything more than a battle wound, a weakness, a memory of the past still scarring the present.  
Tony settled a finger on the underside of Loki's jaw, nudging his head up. The god leaned up the rest of the way, pressing his lips to Tony's.  
It wasn't how he thought it would be. It wasn't an explosion of heat. It wasn't a crash of passion.  
It was molten lava, slow and warm, changing him to the very core.  
It was Loki.  
He tasted like leather.  
He tasted like snow.  
He tasted purely like Loki.  
Neither of them moved for the longest time after that. They simply lay together, wrapped in each other's arms as if nothing could ever hurt them, as if nothing ever had.  
It was that night that he realized he'd completely, irrevocably, undeniably, fallen in love with the God of Mischief and Lies.  
Perhaps he'd regret it. Perhaps he'd get hurt.  
But for now, all he knew was that he had his arms wrapped around a Norse god who he loved and who loved him back.  
And right now? That was all he needed.


End file.
